


there was a star danced

by tosca1390



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is the familiar rhythm of her days; the coffee shop until one pm, five days a week, then class and the lab, then home or the library. Here, in her last year with a future dark ahead of her, she doesn’t see anything to change her ways. </i>
</p>
<p>Jane and Thor, meeting at a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there was a star danced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hariboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/gifts).



> Look, guys, it's Thor and Jane in college meeting at a coffee shop! I had many more intricate dreams for this, but I don't think they will happen. And I like this premise so much. And I promised this to Ari like 5000 years ago. So, this is what we have. 
> 
> For my dearest Ari. Because one day, I will finish regency AU. and you'll never know when. But this is what I have for you for now.

*

The alarm cuts through Jane’s restless sleep, beeping rhythmically in the powder-blue pre-dawn light. 

She sits up in bed and reaches over to shut it off, rubbing the sleep dust from her eyes. 4:45 comes too early in the mornings, and 11:00 comes too soon during her nights. Her physics textbook lays next to her, a constant companion in her twin bed. The hardwood floor is scattered with notebooks and textbooks from her various classes, pens and post-its; she has an organizational system, not that anyone would know it from walking in here. 

In the pale blue light she dresses, black turtleneck and dark jeans already stained with coffee and mocha. Summer still lingers even in September, but it is cool in the early mornings, and the air conditioning in the store is still fierce. She slips on her Chucks and picks up her backpack, a change of clothes and her books and class notes for the day stuffed inside, and tiptoes out of her bedroom and down the small hallway to the front door. She can hear Darcy’s soft snores from the other small bedroom, under the low hum of her box fan. The apartment is stuffy in the heat and chilly in the cold; there is no winning. 

Jane shuffles downstairs and there is Steve in the small and cracked-tile lobby of their apartment building, checking the laces of his sneakers. His running shorts barely clip his knees; she thinks he still sprouts inches every year. He looks up as she pushes the inner door open, and grins at her. 

“Opening shift?” he asks, rising from his crouch. 

“It’s the school year schedule,” she says, voice still croaky with sleep. 

He opens the outer lobby door for her, and she sighs as she steps outside. It’s already too humid for her tastes. She doesn’t like Boston in late summer; too sticky and tacky and hot for her tastes. A California girl, she likes a drier heat. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Steve says as they begin to walk down the block towards the main road, where their paths will diverge. 

“Says the dude who gets up to run at five in the morning,” she retorts. 

He laughs, stretching his arms over his head. His iPod is strapped to one thick bicep, his loose t-shirt skirting up over the bulk of it. “Fair point. You and Darce want to come down for dinner tonight?”

“Maybe. I have lab work to finish up. Ask her, I’m sure she’ll say yes,” she says, peering up at him as they come to the corner. The main stretch of road is still quiet at this time of the day; the cars and trucks will start rolling into the city in an hour or so. For now, it’s peaceful, pale skies and the inching of an orange sun upwards at the edge of the horizon. 

“It’s not even a month into the semester, Jane. Take it easy on yourself,” Steve says with a concerned smile, patting her shoulder. 

She merely shrugs and waves goodbye. He starts his jog as she turns to walk in the direction of the city; it’s fifteen minutes to the shop, and she can’t risk being late. What she doesn’t say is that it’s senior year, and there is a thesis to write on potential wormholes, and graduate school applications to finish; she can’t take it easy just yet. 

When she walks up to the storefront, she is the first one there. She drops to a seat on the brick half-wall surrounding the outdoor seating area, pulling out her notes from her Shakespeare lecture to pour over them once more. Shakespeare this term, hopefully a mythology course next term, and all of her general education classes will be done. It’s a struggle to wrap her mind around words as expression, as opposed to formulas and symbols; she takes extra time with it when she can, when she’s not wrapped up in stars and lab reports. 

This is the familiar rhythm of her days; the coffee shop until one pm, five days a week, then class and the lab, then home or the library. Here, in her last year with a future dark ahead of her, she doesn’t see anything to change her ways. 

*

Tuesday is the busiest day at the store. The students are past their Monday blues, the faculty are in need of the caffeine more than ever, and it’s a constant press of people and cups and spills and burns. Jane sticks to the espresso bar on Tuesdays; she is one of the more efficient baristas and works well under pressure. Her manager, an easily-flustered Berklee graduate named Scott, apologizes for it, but Jane waves him off every time. She likes the espresso bar; within the mindless rhythm of drinks, she runs over her to-do list, sketches out formulas to test in her head. 

Recently, they’ve started asking for names to put on the cups. For the most part, people give their real ones. There’s always a few though, that when she calls them out, Jane can’t help but twist her mouth and raise her eyebrows. Today, it’s – 

“Thor?” she calls out as she slaps it onto the ledge amidst four iced coffees and two sugar-free vanilla lattes. It’s a large caramel mocha with four shots and extra whipped cream, and she feels ill just thinking about it. 

The gaggle of people waiting for drinks snicker, and she glances them over with a huff before turning back to the line. People come up, pick up their drinks without even a thank you, but she’s used to it. Coffee shops are not breeding grounds for the manners of a society; caffeine is too important to be polite, she’s learned. 

When she next looks up, the line slowing, the mocha is still there, and she’s irritated. “Thor!” she calls out again, voice rising in pitch. 

“Yes, yes, so sorry,” a blond giant of a man says as he strides up to the bar. A big tan hand wraps around his drink and for a moment, Jane is transfixed. “Blame that one, right there,” he continues with a smile, eyes blue and crinkling at the corners. 

Jane glances over and sees Steve by the front door, waving and grinning. “Oh,” she says, peering back at the caramel mocha man. “Well, no problem.”

He leans his elbows on the ledge; she bites her tongue on a sharp dismissal. “Thank you kindly – “ he glances at the nametag stuck to the left corner of her apron, just resting at the slight curve of her breast, then back up to her wide gaze – “Jane,” he finishes. “Thank you.”

“Um – thank you,” she says, dumbstruck. 

He lingers for just another moment, as she passes off two more iced coffees and a latte, and then moves back towards the front door. Her eyes follow him just for a moment, as he walks with Steve into the bright sunlit day, all blue skies and late September warmth. The nape of her neck is sticky with sweat under her braid, and the steaming pitcher slips in her damp palm. 

It’s only on her break that she thinks, _Thor? Really?_ But there is astrophysics to read and black iced espresso to suck down before she goes back for the last two hours of her shift, and so she puts him from her mind, as she does all distractions. 

*

Jane sits on the roof, wrapped up in an old red plaid flannel button-down, and peers up at the purple-black skies. The sun is just gone from the horizon. A pencil lingers in her hand, waiting to sketch out the pattern and appearance of stars above her. Technically, the roof of their apartment building is off-limits, but she has never been caught, or reprimanded, or reported; she’s going to keep pressing her luck. 

“You missed dinner!” Steve calls from behind her.

She glances back, pushing honey-brown hair from her eyes. The late summer heat breaks at night for cooler temperatures, something more like the autumns she expects from New England. Steve lingers at the door to the stairwell back downstairs, a plate resting in his broad hand. 

“Come over here and sit!” she calls back. 

“No thanks,” Steve says, endearingly nervous. He would do anything for his friends, but his fear of heights is something else altogether. Jane smiles slightly. 

“Fine,” she says, hopping to her feet and walking over. She brushes the dirt from her jeans and palms. 

He hands her the plate as soon as she’s near. “Baked chicken and noodles in olive oil and herbs,” he says. 

“Ah, pre-season diet,” she says. 

“Hey, gotta keep up that muscle mass,” he jokes, a hint of his New York accent slipping into the vowels. “You need to stop forgetting to eat.”

Shrugging, she scuffs the concrete roof with the toes of her sneakers. A litany of excuses sit on her tongue; she has another week until payday, and there were textbooks to purchase before groceries; her scholarship money hasn’t cleared yet; rent is due in a week and she’s pinching every penny. However, she just shrugs again and tips her head back to meet his clear blue gaze. 

“The skies call,” is all she says, smiling. 

He sighs and tucks his hands into his jeans pockets. “They’ll still be here after dinner,” he says pointedly. 

“You came into the shop yesterday,” she says, changing topics quickly. “Why didn’t you say hi?”

Steve chuckles. “A teammate needed coffee, and we were nearby. I didn’t want to bug you, it was packed in there.”

“First of all, he didn’t get coffee, he got a monstrosity of a latte,” she retorts. “Secondly, you should always say hi.”

“Eh, Tuesdays,” he says with a wrinkle of his nose. “Anyway- “

“He was nice,” she blurts out, flushing a little. The breeze off the river is cool, belying the heat of the day. “Despite his disgusting concoction of a drink.”

A little grin curls at the corners of Steve’s mouth. “Oh yeah?” he says, clearly delighted. 

“Oh stop,” she mutters, holding the rapidly cooling plate of food closer to her. “Thank you for dinner. Now let me work.”

He hands her a fork. “Very interesting.”

Blushing, she turns and moves back to her notebooks and textbooks, the open pages fluttering in the breeze. The door to the stairs shuts with a dull thud behind her; her eyes are already fixed on the sky, purple deepening into true dusky night. Flickers appear in their prescribed patterns; she alternates bites of chicken and pasta with her sketchbook and notes. It is like every other night, except for the memory of a broad smile and large hands at the espresso bar. 

*

On a cool Thursday, the leaves starting to turn and the sky a hard autumn blue, the large caramel mocha comes to her once again. 

It’s slower today, so she takes her time with it. The name on the cup is different, but she glances up and he is the only one waiting, and it is the only cup on the line. She adds extra caramel sauce inside the cup, swirls the foam in with the whipped cream for an extra-light texture. Her fingers shake just the slightest as she sets the hot-to-the-touch cup on the ledge. 

“Benedick?” she calls. 

There he is, all white teeth in a friendly smile. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, a gym duffel over the other. Wavy dark-blond hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, just a few thick pieces escaping to graze his sharp jawline. 

“My thanks, once again,” he intones, voice low, with just the touch of an accent – British perhaps? She can’t tell. 

She glances at the registers, noting the empty space where customers would be. There are dishes to do, and fridges to wipe down, but she leans over the ledge instead, when he does not leave immediately. “Is it really Benedick?” she asks. 

“What would you prefer?” he asks in response. 

“It’s a mouthful, that’s all,” she murmurs, cheeks warming under his gaze. 

He leans a tanned forearm on the ledge, the sleeves of his bright blue button-down rolled up to his elbow. The color catches the hue of his eyes. Her hand slips on the gallon of milk she has by the handle. He takes a sip of his latte, not moving his eyes from hers. 

“This is the best I’ve ever tasted,” he says with a content grin. 

“Well, thanks. I’ve had enough practice.”

“It feels like there’s extra love in this one, though,” he winks. 

Flushing, she looks away and opens her fridge. The milk is slick with condensation under her palms. “There’s extra caramel,” she allows. 

When she looks back up, his smile has widened. “Thank you, Jane.” 

With a nod, he pushes off of the ledge and heads for the door. Jane watches him go; he is hard to miss, with his height and the breadth of his shoulders. There’s a strange pang of longing and want in her middle, echoing through the tips of her fingers. It’s an odd feeling. 

*

“Steve says you have an admirer.”

Jane looks up from her beat-up copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_ , frowning at Darcy. “What?”

Darcy leans in the doorframe to Jane’s closet of a bedroom, dark hair falling about her shoulders in smooth curly waves. She has the sleeves of her Emerson College sweatshirt pulled over her hands, her sweatpants dragging on the floor. It’s the first cold snap of the fall, October just come; Jane and Darcy have a pact not to turn on the heat until it drops below 35 degrees at night for four consecutive days, or December, whichever comes first. This year, Jane hopes it’s December. 

“An admirer. A gentleman caller,” Darcy teases, eyes bright behind her purple-rimmed glasses. “Who likes big drinks.”

Blushing, Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “You and Steve need to stop gossiping.”

“Apparently it’s all the scuttlebutt with all of the lacrosse team,” Darcy retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. She tips her chin forward, eyes wide. 

Thor-Benedick-Fabio-Hamlet has come in twice a week for the past two weeks, coming in the quiet lulls pre-lunchtime, and orders the same caramel mocha latte. Sometimes she’s on register, and he gets his drink and then lingers near the food case, hemming and hawing as he chats. Most of the time, she’s on bar, and he can speak to her much more easily as she makes drinks and cleans. He tells her about lacrosse, about his love of classic literature and his hatred of business. Yesterday, she piped up about her Shakespeare class and her difficulties, and he all but slapped his phone number onto a nearby napkin, offering his services and assistance. 

She has the napkin on her bedside table. The number is there in wide whorls and sweeps of ink. She wouldn’t know what name to put it under in her phone, if she was so inclined. 

“It’s nothing,” Jane says at last, toes curling in her socks. The skies are purple-black outside, just turning to deep night; she has an early morning at the shop tomorrow, and then a Friday afternoon to herself. 

“If you say so,” Darcy says with a grin. “Steve and Bucky are having a party tomorrow night, by the way. We’re going.”

“Oh, man – “

“Come on, I’ve let you do your crazy hermit studying thing for over a month now. You owe me a party. And you have Saturday off, so there’s no excuse!” Darcy counters, wrinkling her nose. 

Jane settles back into her pillows, holding her book close to her chest. There are readings to do, papers to write, personal statements and research proposals to edit; but it is only early October, and she could use a night off. She remembers her father, the way he buried himself in work after her mother left, and doesn’t want to be quite that, not yet. The ache for him, gone two years in November, still lingers. 

“Okay,” she says at last. “But you don’t get to pick my outfit.”

Darcy leaves her be with a frown and a laugh. Soon, Jane shuts off her light and curls up under three blankets, the room chilly to the bare touch. She blinks up at her ceiling, at the sticky patterns of glow-in-the-dark constellations she’s had there for two years now. Her eyes trace the familiar patterns of Andromeda, Cassiopeia , Orion. They lull her to sleep as they always have, comfortable friends and companions. But even stars do not last forever. 

*

On Friday night, Jane sticks to beer – Bucky is a beer guy, and he buys good local stuff, Slumbrew, Harpoon – and sticks to Bucky, amid the Arcade Fire Pandora pulsing in the background. The apartment is stuffed with folks, athletes and scientists alike; she thinks she sees Tony Stark, a fellow physics major (not astro, though. He would never be so amorphous in his research, he told her once.), wearing his sunglasses inside and following Pepper around like a puppy through the living room. Darcy is dancing between the couch and the tv, her arms wrapped around a broad-shouldered blond with a fine beard who might be on the lacrosse team. 

Jane can’t keep anybody straight though, so she nurses her lager and leans against Bucky’s shoulder as they hide out in the kitchen. 

“Bros, man,” she says over the music. The condensation from the glass bottle slips over her fingers. 

Bucky glances down at her, eyes bright. A shock of dark hair falls over his brow. “I’m one of those bros, Foster,” he says with a low chuckle. 

“Not really,” she says with a smile. She peers past him, watching Steve chat with a few of Darcy’s theatre friends from Emerson. “Neither is Steve, but your friends are.”

“You could use some bros,” he says. “Odinson won’t stop talking about you.”

“Who?” she asks, perplexed, but then Bucky is caught at the elbow by Nat, a red-headed whirlwind of a girl on the field hockey team, and dragged away to the makeshift dance floor. Jane blinks, lingering near the fridge and rolling the lip of her bottle along her chin thoughtfully. 

“Well, look at you! Out in the nighttime!”

Jane turns and immediately flushes. Thor-Benedick-Fabio-Hamlet stands there, a red plastic cup in his large hand, all grins. His dark blond hair falls loose today, in his eyes and at his jaw. She can see the taut line of his throat above his shirt, dark blue striped today. 

“I am not necessarily a social creature, but I do enjoy it every once in a while,” she says at last, flustered. 

“Rogers convinced you to come out?” he asks, leaning on the cabinets next to her. She glances back, sees Steve grinning at her, and sighs. 

“It sounded like a nice time,” she says, biting her lip. 

“I’m glad you did. I’ve – well – “

He waits a beat, eyes fixed on her face. The level of attention is strange. She’s never in one place with a man long enough for moments like this. Her skin feels like it will be flushed for the rest of her days. 

“Do you want to see something?” she asks after a quiet moment, taking a bold full breath. 

“With you?” he asks. 

She nods. He breaks into a wide grin and nods. “Absolutely.”

That’s how she ends up on the roof with him, leaving the crush and sounds of the party beyond three floors below them. It’s a cool crisp night; her button-down, deep purple with black polka-dots and different enough from her every day wear to keep Darcy from rolling her eyes, is too thin for her comfort. She sets her bottle down on the concrete floor and peers upward, gathering her bearings quickly. 

“What are we looking at?” he asks. 

“Shhh,” she says, craning her neck. “Ah. Here,” she says, taking his arm and raising it up. “Look. Aquarius.”

“I’m actually an Aries,” he teases, eyes on her. 

She glances back at him, the shivers from the cold disappearing into something else entirely. “The constellation. It’s best viewed in October,” she says, cupping her hand around his wrist. As he points, she traces the path of stars for him, over and over, until he makes a quiet sound of wonder behind her. Her hip presses to his, his chest warm against her back. 

“Are there others?” he whispers near her ear. 

Licking her lips, she releases his arm and nods. “Sure,” she says, turning in the wide square of his shoulders. “If you tell me your real name.”

He smiles slightly, teeth white in the darkness. “Thor.”

“Really?” she asks, laughing a little. 

“My mother has an affinity for Norse mythology,” he says, a little ruefully. 

“And here I am, just plain old Jane,” she says, shaking her head. 

His hands cover hers, take hers in his between them. She blinks, keeping his serious and steady gaze. 

“You are not plain anything,” he says, a cool breeze sliding between their bodies. 

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, her skin afire. Tipping her head back, she smiles just for a moment before turning her back to him and raising one hand. His hand rises with hers, as he settles her back against his chest. “Here is Pegasus,” she says, tracing the pattern for him. 

His lips linger near the exposed shell of her ear. “What of the North Star?”

“We don’t see all the stars year round,” she murmurs. “And while Polaris is currently the North Star as we know it, it will not always be so, because of the motion of the Earth’s rotation, and the movement of stars.”

“Is that something I will have to worry about soon?” he asks, his free hand resting lightly at the curve of her waist. 

She glances back at him. “No,” she says with a smile. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Is this what you study?” he asks, voice low. She can hear the soft musicality of his accent in these moments. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I love it.”

He keeps her gaze, brushing his hair back from his eyes. “I’d like to hear more.”

It’s then she notices that their arms have fallen to their sides, their hands still intertwined. There’s a strange level of comfort she finds in his arms. 

“You’re not just doing this for the free coffee, are you?” she asks suddenly. 

Thor’s gaze widens, mouth falling open. “Jane – I would never – I still expect to pay – “

Laughing, she leans up and stops his mouth with hers. It’s an easy kiss, simple and warm; she feels it deep in the pit of her stomach, a tingle in her fingertips. She shuts her eyes to the skies and lets him pull her close as he opens his mouth over hers. There is a stretch in her calves because he is so tall, so broad; she feels the wide cup of his palm at her waist and smiles into the kiss. 

They linger on the roof past midnight, until she is cold through to the bone and their beers are long gone. She watches and laughs as he puts her phone number into his phone, and promises to do the same. They make a date for Tuesday, her next free evening. He walks her to her apartment door, and kisses her goodbye. She goes to sleep that night with her eyes on the stars and a smile on her lips. 

The next morning, Darcy pounces on her as soon as she creeps out of her bedroom. 

“You disappeared last night,” Darcy exclaims. 

“I need coffee before you interrogate me,” Jane retorts, making her way to their tiny kitchen. 

Darcy stalks her to their kitchen, chattering a mile a minute. Jane just smiles and gives up nothing. 

On Monday, Thor comes into the shop. He pays for his coffee, and she adds an extra shot of espresso, just because. 

*

Tuesday night is dinner at the nearby Mexican restaurant, quiet despite the baseball game on tv and the students crowding the bar. She and Thor sit in a corner booth in the back, share chips and guacamole, as she sips at a frozen mango margarita, and he a Corona. 

“They’re better in California,” she says with a sigh. 

Thor watches her carefully. Today he has his hair pulled back in a knot at his neck, thick tendrils falling loose at his brow. “What’s a nice California girl doing out here in cold New England?” he teases, dipping a chip in the guacamole and bringing it to his mouth. 

Jane sits back in the booth, the leather creaking under her as she shifts. Her fingers drag along the wide cup of her glass. They’ve lowered the lights as the sun disappeared, shadows falling across the floor and his face. There’s a low hum in the background, from the kids watching the Red Sox at the bar, glasses clinking and taps pouring. 

“BU gave me the best offer,” she says at last. There’s another story, of a father dying of cancer, and the Dana Farber clinic’s experimental trial that prolonged his life another year – but it’s too soon for that. “I also have a great respect for one of the physics professors, Professor Dall. I wanted the chance to study with him.”

“Dall? Tall, dark, British?” he asks. 

“Yeah, why?”

He smiles a little around the lip of his beer bottle. “He’s a friend of the family.”

Her mouth drops open for an embarrassing moment, before she recovers enough to take a sip of her drink. “Wow. That’s – that’s amazing.”

“My dad’s in weapons systems manufacturing, so he’s had Henry – sorry, Professor Dall – on as a consultant for some projects,” he says, tapping his beer bottle lightly on the table.

Jane takes a moment to sip her drink and process. Her toes curl inside her Chucks. ( _CHUCKS, Darcy bemoaned as Jane hurried out the door, WHY CHUCKS_ ). “Professor Dall is extremely talented and intelligent. He’s an asset to any project. Your dad’s lucky to have him,” she says at last, watching Thor carefully. 

There’s a tense cast to his mouth that wasn’t there before, a dulling of his eyes. “He is,” he says, quite shortly. “Anyway – here you are.”

“Here I am,” she echoes, curiosity settling on the tip of her tongue. “And you? Clearly you aren’t a native yourself.”

He relaxes slightly, dragging his fingertips down the curve of his beer bottle. “Born in England – my mother is part-Norwegian, my father part-Scottish – but I’ve lived here for nearly ten years. Sent here for schooling and all.”

“And you picked BU because?” she asks. 

The waitress arrives, sets down his enchiladas (extra steak no cheese) and Jane’s fajitas (extra peppers, no onion), and immediately peels away with a request for a second round of drinks. Thor grins a little, grabbing his fork. “Their literature department is pretty great. And, the sports. It’s getting a quality experience without being at Harvard,” he says, a little dismissively at the end.

She smiles, beginning to build her first fajita. The skillet sizzles and pops, pungent steam rising from the vegetables and chicken. “Not a fan of the Crimson?”

“Not really. I know plenty of nice people who go or have gone there, but it’s not for me,” he says between bites. 

“I can’t see you there,” she says, as if she knows; but for as little time as they’ve truly spent together, she feels the familiarity deep in her stomach, gut instinct. She isn’t one for _feelings_ ; she likes proof and hard truths. But this – this, here, she’s willing to take a chance on. “It doesn’t seem like your style.”

He laughs, the sound low and warm in the air between them. “No, no. My younger brother can have the ivy league glory.”

“Younger brother?” she asks between bites. 

The lines of Thor’s face shift just slightly, the corners of his mouth drawing down. “Yes. He’s at Harvard now. Much smarter than I am,” he says, voice cooling.

Jane swallows and sips at her margarita, tension settling uneasily on her skin. “What is your major?” she blurts out, in an effort to change the subject. 

His gaze clears as he begins to speak on the literature and classics courses he takes, interspersed with the business courses his father seems to require. He is a creature of creation and myth, and appreciates the lasting impact of those long-ago stories. She counters with her difficulties in Shakespeare, and all of a sudden their food is left to cool as he takes her hand and taps out iambic pentameter in the center of her palm, his voice rhythmic and soothing. Her skin flushes too warm to the touch, but he seems not to notice. Blue eyes lock onto hers, watching as she starts to speak and follow his rhythm. 

“You’re still reading _Much Ado_?” he asks.

“You remember,” she says, startled. 

Shrugging, he grins and taps out the rhythm, the pad of his finger callused against her palm. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I think I would like it more if I could wade through the language,” she says, wetting her lips nervously. 

“Perhaps I can help with that,” he says quietly. “If you wanted to, of course – “

“Sure – sure!” she blurts out. “I don’t know if I can return the favor, I mean, mythology? I’m a scientist, and it’s all formulas and star maps and wormholes, which isn’t the most interesting – “

He leans in and touches his mouth to hers, just lightly. She quiets, her eyes falling shut. His hand closes around hers completely, settling to the tabletop. 

“Peace – I will stop your mouth,” he murmurs. 

“I don’t think we’re at that part yet,” she breathes. 

He just laughs, and kisses her again. She’s grateful for the darkness of the restaurant, the sparsely-filled dining room, but really, she doesn’t care. His mouth is warm and gentle on hers, and she likes the feel of it, the slight scratch of his beard against her skin. The tips of her fingers curl against his as their hands settle together. 

Eventually, they turn back to their food. But his eyes rarely leave her, and she finds she likes it, the headiness of his gaze. 

*

It’s a cool, crisp evening; they decide to walk back to his apartment, as opposed to taking the train. 

“Some days it feels like miles away,” Thor says, his hand still entwined with hers. “But it’s really so close. I hate taking the train for like, four stops.”

“Especially street level like this,” Jane says, peering up at the sky. It’s habit, to be outside and always searching out the skies. 

He squeezes her hand after a quiet moment. “Anything interesting up there?” he asks with a laugh. 

Flushing, she glances at him. “Sorry.”

“No, really! Is there? I know so little of what it’s all comprised of,” he says, gaze bright. 

As they walk, she begins to sketch the skies to him with her words, stopping every now and then to show him, her hand guiding his. He leans into her body every time they pause, his chest warm against her back. His mouth touches her temple, her hair; he is tactile in a way she’s never experienced before, a wealth of heat radiating from his body. If she stumbles over her words once or twice, or if her breath stutters in her chest, she doesn’t let it show. 

“I feel like you’re only skimming the surface,” Thor says as they pause in front of his apartment building, the front steps warmly lit. Jane lets the ambient sounds of the night settle around her, the breeze, windows cracked open and the sounds of the baseball game filtering into the air. 

“I am,” she says bluntly. She’s never been good at playing coy; she’s good at her studies, and there’s no use in pretending otherwise. 

“I’d like to hear more,” he says with a small smile. “Want to come up for a bit?”

She hesitates, her fingers shifting against his. “I’d like to. Really, I would. But I have to open – “

“I’ll drive you home later,” he wheedles, pulling her into the breadth of his chest. Her free hand rises to his throat, fingers curving there. His skin is taut and hot, faintly damp. She can feel his pulse under her thumb. 

“You don’t hear no very often, do you?” she asks after a moment.

His arm settles around the small of her back. “No,” he says with a wide grin. 

“You should try to get used to it,” she says as she stretches up to her tiptoes, her mouth brushing his. 

“This doesn’t sound like a no,” he murmurs, his tongue touching her bottom lip. 

Jane smiles, and steps away. “Maybe another night,” she says, moving out of the circle of his arms. 

Thor blinks, a little dazed around the eyes and soft around the mouth. In the yellow lamplight, she can see spots of red at the tops of his cheeks. “Oi – if that’s a goodnight kiss, then I heartily protest – “

Laughing, she moves back and slings her arms around his neck, lifting herself against him with an _oof_. His mouth covers hers and they kiss there, under the stars and the streetlights, for a long moment. Broad hands cup her hips and slide to her back, holding her up and close. She closes her eyes and thinks she can see stars in the shape of his smile there. 

*

“Heard you had a late one,” Steve greets her in the lobby of their apartment building the next morning, bright and early at five. 

Jane scrubs at her eyes and readjusts her backpack across her shoulders, scowling. “Shut up, Rogers.”

Steve grins and slings an arm around her shoulders as they begin their walk down the street. “He’s a good guy, Janey. I hope he sticks.”

She blinks into the pale blue light, just inches of sun streaking through the eastern edge of the skies. “Yeah,” she says at last. “Me too.”

*

Time passes more quickly than Jane can ever remember from before, starting then. 

Her studies flourish, and Dr. Dall signs off on her thesis exploring wormhole structure and spatial anomalies; she’s one step closer to graduate school, to the dissertation concerning recreation of structure and passage through. The afternoon of her meeting, she couldn’t stop smiling, even in Dr. Dall’s office. 

“It’s very interesting research, Jane,” he says, voice low and thick with its accent. A little smile breaks white against his dark skin. “I’m very glad to advise you on it.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she says with a grin, her hands flat on top of the thick manila folder in her lap, the bare bones of her outline, as well as her copy of the master’s thesis advisory agreement. She can’t take her hands away from it. “I hope to do well.”

“You never disappoint,” he says, reaching out a hand. 

She shakes his hand and all but sails into the hallway and towards the stairs. The November cold snap has set in, the trees sharpening to a hard dark brown at their leaves. She’s ready for the winter, for the long slow slide. Outside the building, Thor is waiting, hands shoved in his pockets. The early-setting sun casts brightly against his hair, gleaming a warm gold. He leans against the brick wall next to the side doors and looks up as she pushes the glass doors open. The smile that breaks across his face warms her through. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” she says as she stands in front of him, tipping her face up. The tip of his nose is red with the chill. 

His arms come around her, pulling her close. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says with a grin. “It went well?”

“It did,” she says with a grin. “He thinks it’s very interesting.”

“I’m sure I would too, if I could understand any of it,” he laughs, leaning down to kiss her once. “You’re a genius.”

“I’m a scientist,” she corrects, distracted by the warmth and feel of his mouth. 

“Does this scientist have time for dinner with her boyfriend?” he asks, kissing her cheek as he leans their weight against the brick wall at his back. 

She wriggles against him, nodding. “Yeah she does,” she says. “Your place?”

His bright eyes fix on her face, color rising to his cheeks. “My place,” he says softly, kissing her brow. “We can order in and you can explain to me in full how brilliant you are.”

Jane smiles. “Only after you tell me about your match,” she says. 

Thor kisses her cheek. “Or, we skip all of the above and get naked.”

“Also a probable outcome,” she laughs, blushing. 

It’s a start to something solid, she thinks as they walk through campus, the daylight fading orange and purple around them. Leaves crunch under her feet, her hand linked with his. There are still mysteries between them, but she likes a mystery. 

She’s looking forward to the journey. 

*


End file.
